


The List

by Rinkafic



Series: Misc Fanfic [14]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinkafic/pseuds/Rinkafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Done for Kink Bingo fill "Whipping/Flogging"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The List

When it got to be too much, when the burden within built up to the point of bursting, he knew he needed to do something about it. The Doctor had put it off as long as he could this time, but as always; the need to purge some of the incessant emotional pain consumed him. He couldn’t function when he was like this, he made mistakes, and the mistakes of a Time Lord could be deadly.

So he went to him, as he always did, eventually. The Doctor sought out one of the only beings that could ever understand, one of the few that had known loss enough to cripple a soul, a man carrying a long history of pain upon his old and scarred psyche.

The Doctor paused for a long time before leaving the refuge of the Tardis. With his hands resting flat on the door, he took several deep breaths to calm himself, to make himself presentable. This would not happen if he appeared as wild and out of control on the outside as he felt on the inside. He smoothed the hair back from his forehead, straightened his sportcoat, pushed open the door and stepped out.

“Again, so soon?” Came the greeting as the door closed behind him.

He raised his chin to meet the eyes of this person he had come to know more than any other over the years. His voice was slightly manic as he replied with a shrug, “It’s been bad, happened again, back to the start, you know the way it goes.” He shut up, to say more might betray just how bad off he was this time, might nix everything before he got what he needed.

“Yes, I know. Come in.”

The Doctor followed him into the house, winding through to the room at the back. He wondered idly if this room was ever used for anything else. It was always ready when he turned up. He stripped off his jacket, tugged his tie over his head and began to undo the buttons of his shirt, then tossed all to a bench in the corner.

The snap of the whip brought his attention around, leather held confidently in hands that knew what they were doing after long years of practice. The whip was set aside, momentarily, as other preparations needed to be made. “Are we counting or naming today?”

Walking over to lean against the crossbars, The Doctor raised his wrists to the cuffs and allowed himself to be secured in place. He sighed and dropped his head forward, giving himself over into the other’s care. He breathed out, “Naming, it needs to be naming.”

As always, the first lash was unexpected, he never heard it coming; the man was a master, after all. He bucked up against the support frame as the strike landed and hissed, “Susan.”

The next five lashes were paced precisely, and with each, he recited another name, another hurt, another loss, another that went away and left. They always left somehow, the very nature of their short lives a betrayal to him, in a way. Yet, he repeatedly sought out one to fill their place. “Barbara, Ian, Polly, Jamie, Zoe.”

Their faces were ingrained forever upon his memory, and never far from the surface. The lash fell again, harder this time. He winced and strained at the cuffs, grasping at the straps that secured the cuffs to the crossbar as he breathed through the physical pain. “The Brigadier. Jo.”

“I can’t hear you, Doctor.” The lash landed hard across his back, flame hot, surely raising welts across the stripes already there. “Sarah Jane. Oh God, Sarah Jane.” He leaned his face against his sweat drenched arm and began to shake as repressed emotions welled up. Some names were harder than others, some pains ran deeper.

“Do we need to stop?”

The Doctor took in great gulps of air and shook his head. He ground out, “Keep going.”

Another trio of strikes spaced closely together. He rattled off the names, “Leela, K-9, Romana.”

A water bottle was pressed to his lips and fingers checked his pulses, gently stroking. The one wielding the whip knew the list by now, they had done this often enough. The pause at this point was a slight mercy, as the next strike would be the hardest, had to be the hardest. He had asked in the past that this be so, and it was. The Doctor screamed as the lash possibly broke the skin, the only time the wielder would allow it to happen, again, by request. “Adric,” he whimpered brokenly as sweat or blood or a combination of both dripped down to his waist.

The next five lashes were softer, landing across his lower back, where none had yet touched. He grunted and twisted against his bonds and recited between hits, “Nyssa, Tegan, Peri, Mel, Ace.”

The next strike hit along his left shoulder, the place it always fell for this name. This was where they had always stopped in the past. “Rose.”

When he heard quiet footsteps fall behind him, the Doctor rasped out, “Wait, one more.”

The lash fell again, this time along his right shoulder, a new spot for a new name. “Donna.” He slumped forward against the support beams.

The Doctor heard the lash drop to the floor. A cooling wash of antiseptic spray hit his fiery back and he whimpered at the pleasure-pain it caused. He felt big, warm hands circle his wrists and loosen the cuffs. He was gently lowered to the floor and carefully pulled up against a broad chest. He buried his face in the strong neck and breathed in the familiar scent of one of the few it had ever been safe to love.

“Shhh, Doctor, shhh. Let it go. I’ve got you.”

“You always do, Jack. You always do.”

 

The End


End file.
